


Hard-headed

by ladydragon76



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fanfiction, Gen, M/M, Rating: PG - Freeform, character: ironhide, character: slingshot, genre: drama, genre: roll-play, verse: g1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Co-written with minibot_love.  Taken from the random pairing and prompt generator.  It said Ironhide, Slingshot, Nervous.  Not sure we totally did ‘nervous’, but we're pretty pleased with how it came out.  Just  a little one-shot between two hard-headed mechs.  ^-^  Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard-headed

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** Cross-posted on **[Gestalt Love](http://community.livejournal.com/gestalt_love/47805.html) ** and **[Minibot_love's LJ](http://minibot-love.livejournal.com/8071.html) **

**Title:** Hard-headed  
 **’verse:** G1  
 **Series:** None  
 **Rating:** PG (for mild cussing)  
 **Characters:** Ironhide and Slingshot  
 **Summary:** Co-written with minibot_love. Taken from the random pairing and prompt generator. It said Ironhide, Slingshot, Nervous. Not sure we totally did ‘nervous’, but we're pretty pleased with how it came out. Just a little one-shot between two hard-headed mechs. ^-^ Enjoy!  
 **Notes:** Cross-posted on **[Gestalt Love](http://community.livejournal.com/gestalt_love/47805.html) ** and **[Minibot_love's LJ](http://minibot-love.livejournal.com/8071.html) **

 

**Hard-Headed**

 

Keeping his head low and his wings tucked close, Slingshot shouldered past a couple mechs in the hallways of the Ark, trudging towards the rec room for rations for his brothers and himself. He cast a brief, longing glance back toward the medbay before its doors were out of sight, then continued on his trek, chewing thoughtfully on his lip.

Their performance in the last battle had been lackluster at best, resulting in the other four Aerialbots currently inhabiting the medbay, and his usual 'cheerful' demeanor spiraling down into a dark cloud of worry and aggression. Prowl had definitely been displeased with their skills, and had said so in that haughty way he did when he thought he knew better than everyone around him. Which was always. Stupid fragger. Said he'd be suggesting further training. Target practice and the like. Sorry fragger wasn't even on the field with the rest, and what did he have anyway? Fragging acid pellets.

“Slingshot!” Ironhide made sure he used the bellow that would echo and bounce around the hallway. Prowl had already talked to him about doing more intensive training with the Aerialbots, and he was glad to finally have official permission. Fireflight was too easily distracted. Air Raid was too busy trying to show off, Silverbolt was afraid to take command, Skydive had his hands busy trying to encourage Silverbolt, and Slingshot… Slingshot strutted around like he knew all there was to know about combat and everything else in the fraggin’ ‘verse, while treating the rest of them like they were idiots. Ironhide was looking forward to exhausting them all on the training field.

Slingshot’s wings stiffened at that rebounding shout, but he refused to show any other outward sign of tension, turning a dark glower over his shoulder at the red mech. Fragging out-dated, over-clocked, walking cannon thought he knew everything there was to know about combat. What did _he_ know? Fragging _ground pounder_. Internally he winced, just slightly, at Silverbolt’s weary chastisement over their bond for using the derogatory term for the ground-based mechs comprising the vast majority of the Autobot army. The only mech so far that was even halfway acceptable was Swoop, and he was too fragging _stupid_ to keep up with them. Drawing himself up as tall as he could manage, Slingshot snorts back at the weapons specialist down the hall, “The frag do you _want_? I’m _busy_!” 

Ironhide launched forward, arm across Slingshot’s neck, and slammed him back into the wall. His voice a low dangerous growl. “Mind yer tone, and mind yer language when talkin’ ta me.” He leaned his weight in, growling angrily, carefully modulating the tone, and the pressure. “We’re gonna start with the basics. First lesson is respect. You respect my and the other officer’s authority, an’ I won’t jam yer head any further up yer aft than it already is.”

Slingshot’s optics widened in initial surprise at the attack and the pain in his wings as he was slammed back against the wall by his throat, hands coming up to grasp and claw at the arm pressing against his neck, gaze narrowed back into a sullen glower at the older mech. _Respect_ , he says… What was there to respect about an out-dated model like _him_? Mech was so old he probably had rust growing on the gears of his processor like moss on tree bark. He bared his denta at Ironhide, struggling fruitlessly to get free from his position against the wall. “You expect me to ‘ _respect_ ’ the likes of you? You’re all the ones saying we’re sell-outs; that we ran off with the ‘Cons at the first waggle of shiny wings! I don’t ‘ _respect_ ’ dirt-dwellers now get your hands off of me before I have to hurt you!”

Ironhide didn’t move a micron, but he did begin to record what he heard. The others were going to need to review all of this. He was not bothered by the threat. Kid could think whatever he wanted about ‘hurting’ Ironhide. He’d been around far too long to feel threatened by a whelp that couldn’t even take down Bumblebee on the mats. Calmly, he asked, “So yer better’an me? Better’an the other Autobots? Cuz ya can fly? Or for some other reason too?”

Writhing against the hold, Slingshot clawed and scratched harder at Ironhide’s arm against his neck, trying to quell the rising panic of being restrained like this. He was _bigger_ than the weapons specialist, he was _stronger, younger_. He should be able to get loose from his grip easily! And that fact, and the fact that he _wasn’t_ , coupled with the sudden clamor from his brothers on the other end of the link, made his vents cycle more rapidly. Optics narrowed and smoldering with anger, trying to cover the growing fear burning deeper in them, he lashed out uselessly with a foot. “That’s why you _hate_ us, isn’t it?! Because we fly! _Because_ we’re better! You made us better than you to fight where you can’t and you can’t _handle_ that we’re not mindless weapons to be locked up in storage!” 

Ironhide remained in position easily. He could feel the tension in Slingshot’s frame, knew how no flying model liked being trapped. He also knew he wasn’t causing pain, just a little fear, but the kid needed to get through his head that he wasn’t all he thought he was. Would get him killed, and after today, sooner seemed more likely than later.

“Never wanted mindless weapons. Prime agonized over bringin’ sparklings inta our war, but the ‘Cons have air superiority and gestalts, that while dumb as posts, are big an’ tough. Makin’ ya Aerialbots gives us an advantage of both, includin’ none o’ ya being dumb as posts. Least that was the hope. Didn’t count on ya deciding ta take the ‘Con view of things. Didn’t count on a few innocent kids listenin’ ta Starscream’s tripe about having wings equalin’ _better_.”

And Prime was gonna have his internals for wall art for this. “Way I see it, y’all can listen an’ learn, or we might as well deactivate ya before ya go pledge yer allegiance ta Megatron. I know Prime and Prowl and Ratchet would fight and cajole and all that ta keep ya here, keep ya safe, give ya time ta learn. But me… I’d rather extinguish a still innocent, mind _misguided_ spark, than let ya learn all our tricks and go take ‘em ta the ‘Cons. _Before_ ya get one of my friends, mechs that care ‘bout you too, killed.”

Growling louder, his vents cycled rapidly as he scrabbled and scraped against the arm holding him immobile on the wall. The longer he was held there, pinned, trapped, the more the walls seemed to confine him, the smaller the hallway seemed to be, and the more desperately his programming yelled at him to take to the skies, to shake off the confinement of the ship and its walls. Despite his labored breathing, he remained defiant, optics gleaming angrily down at the red mech. How could he overpower him so easily! 

"You think we're just waiting to take off to their side, don't you?! It's not enough that you've got 'Bolt basically groveling at your pedes, you think you're going to force the rest of us to submit out of fear! You're no better than a 'Con yourself with these ... these scare tactics! I'm not about to fall for your slag. Prime wouldn't let you offline us without reason!"

“Turning ‘Con would be reason,” Ironhide said, not bothering to hide the sadness in his tone. “An’ ya gotta know what you turnin’, an’ then havin’ ta be put down would do ta yer brothers?” He sighed. “Bolt ain’t grovelin’. He’s willing ta learn, an’ he’ll make a good leader once he gains the confidence ta do the job. Yer all young.” He narrowed his optics, pressing just a little harder against Slingshot. “You on the other hand, ya ain’t got no respect for no one. Not Prime, not me, not Prowl, not even yer own brothers. _You_ are the risk, Slinger. Not yer brothers. Bolt ain’t going anywhere, Dive’ll stay with him. Air Raid…” He shrugged. “He’s almost as arrogant as you, but he’s feelin’ betrayed by Screamer. Flight? Kid’s got a keen optic, just needa train him to use it _and_ keep his head in the game at the same time. Boy’s got real potential the way he sees things others don’t. But you. Yer the one that thinks he’s better’an everyone. Yer the one that ain’t got no kinda respect for anything. Yer the type Megatron likes. Seen it before. Might wanna ask Skyfire about ol’ Screamer. Fire’s got wings, an’ he’s smart, an’ he can out fly you an’ yer brothers with his optical sensors offline. But hey,” Ironhide abruptly stepped back, releasing Slingshot, “ya wanna end up like Screamer an’ takin’ a daily beatin’ from Megatron,” he pointed, “door’s that way.”

Slingshot's struggles slowed as Ironhide went on about his brothers and their potential, wings drooping slightly as he lowered his gaze to just below optic-level with Ironhide. He knew all too well that it was true, every word of it, having heard mechs whispering and echoing the fears lurking in the back of his meta. He was a loose canon, he was a danger, he was the one they couldn’t control. He gritted his denta at that thought. He didn't need to be _controlled_ by anyone! And Skyfire was a huge nerd, big and bulky, not made for fighting like they were, he wouldn't know the first thing about aerial combat! He probably didn't even have any weapons!

An undignified squawk of surprise escaped him at the abrupt release, collapsing to the floor onto his aft. Glaring up Ironhide, he followed his outstretched hand to the faint pinprick of light of the Ark's entrance, wings wilting a little more as he pressed his lips together in a tight frown, and dropped his optics down onto his knees.

"I'm no 'Con..."

“Coulda fooled me.” Ironhide crossed his arms over his chest, stepping back to lean casually against the wall. It was a front. The kid moved, and he’d pounce on him. Prowl was around the corner, the twins were outside the front. They weren’t going to let Slingshot sacrifice himself to the Decepticons. Kid didn’t need to know that though. Didn’t need to know the risk they were taking now to try to help him. It was why Ironhide was the one doing this.

“Sure hearin’ a lot o’ the slag Megatron was preaching. Pits, Slinger, you practically spewed out one them old propaganda vids. You’re better’an the Autobots. You have skills we don’t, you’re intelligent, we’re just tryin’ ta oppress an’ control ya!” He snorted.

'Coulda fooled me.' Slingshot gritted his dentas hard, pushing himself abruptly to his pedes with a snarl, but his optics stayed away from the older mech's gaze, a faint shimmer of shame crossing his face, and a visible aching of his pride in his defensive stance and drooping wings. His brothers were a flurry of confused and conflicting emotions in the background of his meta, his spark aching to think that of all of them, he was the one that mattered the _least_. He was the one they would sacrifice for the good of the bunch, the runt to be put down so he didn't steal resources from his healthier, stronger, _better_ brothers.

Hands curled into fists at his sides, trembling with the force of keeping his arms restrained, he made an attempt to shoulder his way past Ironhide to continue his trek to the rec room for his brothers' energon. "Frag off..."

“Prove me wrong,” Ironhide said softly, not even bothering to block Slingshot since he was heading in, and not out. “Please prove me wrong, cuz I ain’t rechargin’ right imaginin’ a mech with your raw potential workin’ for the ‘Cons.”

And wasn’t that a bit too close to the fragging truth? Slingshot was lethal. He had the spark and will of a true warrior. If they could just temper his slagging arrogance with dedication and a willingness to work as a team, he’d be amazing. The sword, and sword arm both, of his gestalt. Silverbolt was the leader, the diplomat, the one that would guide and balance them. Skydive was the brains, the pragmatic one to keep them grounded in reality. Fireflight was their optics, and the one that could think outside the box, notice the nuances. Kid was a natural. Air Raid was their speed, the one to focus them and keep them from debating a choice too long. But Slingshot was the warrior. The one with the strength and will and sheer drive to bring them through a battle intact.

If he would just stop thinking he could do it all alone, and that he was better than everyone else and didn’t need them, he’d be incredible.

Slingshot bristled visibly at that, another prod to his ego, another tick mark of being called a 'Con, another bruise to his already wounded pride. He whirled about, taking a sloppy, frantic swing at Ironhide's head, his vocalizer all snarls and static, choking himself on the unchecked whirlpool of emotion from himself and his gestalt.

"PROVE IT?!" Another swing, just as sloppy, even more desperate after the first failed to connect. "How can I prove _anything_ when you don't give us the chance! You haven't looked at us like we were worth slag since we made that mistake - and it _was_ a mistake! You just expected us to know! You just _expected_ us to do it right! To be Autobots! You never give us the CHANCE to do it right! To make up for it! You always sit there and _wait_ for us to turn on you!"

Ironhide easily dodged the blows, not even bothering to block or return them. “We made a mistake too. Thought because they programmed ya ta be adults, ya would be. Forgot ya had the sparks of newborns. And I ain’t waitin’ for yer brothers to betray us. Waitin’ for _you_ ta do it. Yer the one lookin’ down his nose at everyone. Yer the one that won’t let us make up for our mistake, an’ teach ya what ya need ta know. So yeah. Prove ya ain’t just waitin’ for a chance ta turn ‘Con on us. Give us a chance to use our experience an’ the knowledge we gained with it ta teach you an’ yer brothers what we hadda learn the hard way. Sit down, shut up, pay attention ta those that’ve _lived_ with this war for more’n a few measly Earth months, so ya might live through it too.

“Ya go stompin’ around, actin’ like ya know oh so much, when I know for a fact ya can barely keep the gestalt formation in combat. Yer gonna get yer brothers killed. Or someone else b’cuz yer pride and ego won’t let ya sit still and accept that me, or Prowl, or Jazz, or Pits, Bumblebee have more real combat knowledge than you do. You could learn from us. It’s you that refuses ta do it.”

Bracing himself on the wall, trembling, he cast another glare at Ironhide, filled with the sort of hateful defiance that a child offers when they know their parent is right, but they _just don't want_ to admit it. He _knew_ he was the reason his brothers were in the medbay. He _knew_ he was the one keeping Superion from working as a whole being. His intakes skipped just once as he swallowed the lump of scrap in his throat and stubbornly walled up his own emotions, shutting out the clamor of conflicting worry with reprimand. He was fighting with a senior officer. _You're going to the brig_ , Skydive had reminded him after the first swing, but he'd been too angry to care. Was _still_ too angry to care. But the bitterness that came with Ironhide's chastising left his rage feeling hollow and pointless, leaving a foul flavor on his glossa.

He straightened, leveling his glare at Ironhide, spark condensed into a small ball of ice and uncertainty, reluctant to even flutter. "You want to teach me to fight? Alright, go ahead, teach me." He spread his arms out in invitation, glancing up and down the hall. "Right here. Teach me how Ground-Pounders do battle."

Ironhide bit back the urge to laugh, knowing it’d be taken wrong, and instead just shook his head. “So pinnin’ ya ta the wall wasn’t enough? You swingin’ an’ missin’ wasn’t enough?” He shook his head again. “Slinger, if I wanted ta pound ya ta slag, I’d do it. Thing is, I don’t, an’ I ain’t lettin’ ya push me inta givin’ ya a physical punishment so ya can feel better about your actions, or justify hatin’ me an’ the others more.

“I want ya ta learn how ta take down a ‘Con that’d as soon as rip yer spark out, or one o’ yer brothers’, than look atcha. I want ya ta learn how ta accept that needin’ help isn’t a weakness. Autobots are still kickin’ cuz we band together. Cuz we help each other, an’ know we can depend on each other. ‘Cons leave their wounded behind. Don’t care who or what happens so long as they get their way. Their battle plans fall apart at the seams cuz they don’t trust each other, and their pride, and ‘I’m better’an you’ attitude keeps ‘em from workin’ together. Every ‘Bot in this base knows he can depend on every one of his fellow ‘Bots ta come an’ help him if he needs it. Doesn’t even have ta ask.

“But we don’t have that with you or your brothers b’cuz ya go around snappin about ground-pounders bein’ less’an you. Who’s gonna trust a mech that sounds like Screamer without his screech? You wanna learn, you wanna be trusted and accepted, and respected for yer abilities? Mebbe ya might wanna stop viewin’ those around ya like we ain’t worth ya walkin’ in ta battle for. Cuz that’s exactly what the rest of us are doin’. We’re walkin’ in ta battle to keep each other safe cuz we’re worth savin’. Tell me, Slinger. Who’d ya be willin’ ta die for?”

"My brothers," he snapped, a little too fast. He relaxed his stance warily, scowling at the empty hallway to avoid meeting Ironhide’s optics. "I'd die for my brothers if I had to, but I'd kill any 'Con that even _thought_ about hurting them. I'd cut him down so fast he wouldn't even have time to process that he was dead before he hit the ground." Slingshot curled a fist at his side, snarling, but it was that same empty bravado, that familiar ego that he could build up and make himself look bigger, stronger, better, to look like he _deserved_ to be part of the pack, that he was _not_ the runt of the litter.

He refrained from adding on, ' _And frag the rest of them_ ', but only just, chancing a wary glance at Ironhide's face before he looked away again, folding his arms across his chest. "Hmph... "

Ironhide’s optic ridge twitched up, but he nodded, adding in what he was sure was thought, but not spoken, “The rest of us can rust.” He nodded again. “But tell me then, how do ya stop Soundwave from gettin’ inside yer head? How do you stop battlechargers with thick armor, and thicker heads from crushin’ yer brothers’ wings? Where do ya needa shoot a Stunticon to take down their forcefield? And can ya hit a movin’ target, while also movin’ yerself at that precise point which ain’t any bigger’an the tip of my little finger here?” He held up his hand, his little finger stuck straight up. “And for that matter, sayin’ one of yer brothers is killed. Do ya know how, and can ya manage it during the confusion and fast pace of combat, ta block the backlash you’ll get over yer gestalt bond?”

Ironhide sighed and shook his head, _this_ was the one he needed to get through to. This was the one mech keeping his brothers from settling, and learning what they needed to survive because they wouldn’t go against him, even if they knew he was wrong. “We made ya in desperation. We threw ya out there without even doin’ more’an loadin’ yer processors with basic combat code, an’ prayed ya’d survive ‘til we could do better. All of ya have a piece of the whole, ya wanna take the chance you’ll manage ta figure it out before one o’ ya gets killed? Cuz I’ve really seen enough hot-headed kids die on the battlefield, an’ I’m askin’ ya ta give us a chance ta help ya. But we can’t do that if ya’re too busy lookin’ down on us, callin’ us ground-pounders, and thinking that just because ya can fly, our lives mean less’an yours.”

Ever defiant, and ever defensive, Slingshot offered another snarl, "And whose fault is that?! You didn't do more than tell us our designations before you sent us out to die for you! Who the Pits are you that we should be dying for?! Just because you're our creators?! Slag that! I'd rather have been left a piece of rusting transit scrap than to have been thrown onto the front lines to protect a bunch of _strangers_!

"You haven't done slag except tell us how worthless we are because we're young, because we're inexperienced, because _you_ made us without thinking 'Oh hey we're bringing a bunch of bots online with technology WE DON'T EVEN UNDERSTAND!' You're going to sit there and lecture _me_ on how my gestalt bond works? You don't even fragging know what it IS! You don't know what it's like having them in your head all the time! And frag Soundwave, he can't get any further in my processor than Fireflight or Silverbolt already are!" 

He clenched his fists hard at his sides, trembling as he glared at Ironhide, vents heaving and threatening to hiccup with their ragged, unsteady cycles. "And then you stand there and tell me how much better they are than me! I already KNOW they're better than me - they live in my head, in my _spark_! Any other bot and you'd be calling them glitched to hear and feel four other mechs in their metas! You don't - You don't know - ..."

His vents finally hiccup and he ended his tirade, glaring hatefully at Ironhide, before he turned for the exit. "Y'know what - frag this... Fine. I'll fragging _leave_ like you all wanted me to. Go ahead and shoot me in the back, not like you didn't already have a knife there to begin with...!" 

Ironhide stepped in Slingshot’s way, blocking his exit. “Ya still aren’t listenin’. I’m askin’ ya, right now, to let us teach ya the way ya shoulda been from the start. Ain’t no one better’an anyone else around here. Each of us has somethin’ ta give ta the whole.” He had it. He knew now without any shade of doubt what was eating the kid, but still… How to get through to him?

"Bullshit!" The human expletive was almost second nature with the way it had crept into the slang of the younger mechs on board - and some of the older ones too - and he shoved at Ironhide's shoulder, trying to push him aside. "You think I got glitchy audials? Or maybe you're going deaf and blind in your _old age_. Mirage sure acts like he's better than everyone else. Tracks too! Cliffjumper sure doesn't seem to trust _them_ with his function, and Red Alert doesn't trust ANYONE! Nobody's better, huh? Nobody's unequal? Sunstreaker struts around like he's Primus' gift to paintjobs, and Sideswipe thinks he's irre-fragging-sistable!

"EVERYBODY acts like they're better than the Minibots! Pits, the Lambos use them as projectiles! And what about the Nerd-bots? Silverbolt always tells me that it's bad to call them 'nerds' that it's 'mean' and 'hurtful' and every fragging mech on this rusted wreck of a ship does it! Where's your so-called 'Respect'? Where's your 'Trust' and 'Equality'?! And now you're either treating _us_ like a bunch of no-processored sparklings or you're treating _me_ like a _traitor_! Nobody's better? How stupid do you think I am?!"

Ironhide tipped his head, blinking, but remaining immovable. “I guess I can see how not knowin’ us ya’d get that impression.” He held his finger up in the universal ‘wait a moment’ gesture, and opened his comm, leaving it on speaker so Slingshot could hear the others.

“Mirage, Cliffy, y’all trust each other with yer lives?”

“Of course,” Mirage answered immediately. Cliffjumper’s response was more hesitant, but the shame in his voice was clear when he did. “Pit yeah, I do. I know I screwed up.”

Ironhide just watched Slingshot’s face. “Sunstreaker, when was the last time you launched a minibot?”

“He pleads the fifth!” Sideswipe laughed over the comm, only to be cut off on an ‘oomph!’ “Been a while, but none of them have insulted me lately. Why? Who needs thrown into a wall?”

Ironhide’s lips twitched. “No one. Skyfire, where ya at?”

“Nerdlab with Perceptor. Ironhide… what’s going on?”

“Nothing, thanks.” Ironhide closed the comm, and pinned Slingshot with a look. “Individual personalities. Sunstreaker doesn’t like being equated to a ‘Con just cuz him an’ Sides are willin’ ta fight dirty an’ fight hard. He’ll defend his twin against that, and the fragger has a temper. Doesn’t mean he’s better’an us. If he thought he was, he wouldna stepped between Gears and that shot from Thundercracker that took out his shoulder today. Tracks thinks he’s pretty. So what? He’s still willin’ ta fight for what’s right and fair. Red Alert is scared ta death ta lose any of us. He’s paranoid and terrified he’s gonna make a mistake that costs one o’ us our lives.

“Look around ya, but look at the bigger picture. We’re all individuals, an’ arguments are gonna occur, but each life is important. No one less important than any other. Instead of dwellin’ on the mistake, instead of talkin’ like you are better’an everyone here, ya oughta be tryin’ ta learn all ya can from ‘em. We can’t stop this war, it’s why we built ya. No one regrets that, an’ no one wants ta see ya dead, but that’s the way yer headed cuz ya won’t fraggin’ listen and learn.”

Slingshot stiffened, bristling for a fight when Ironhide’s comm opened, half expecting him to call a 'code red' or maybe even a 'code purple' considering the topic of their conversation/argument. He only relaxed marginally when he realized what Ironhide was doing. Mirage's quick answer twisted his lips into a disbelieving frown, but Cliffjumper's adamant, if hesitant, response caught him off-guard, wings perking in surprise and optics screwed up in confusion. Sunstreaker's response furthered his bewilderment, as did Skyfire's casual tossing of his own supposedly-insulting title.

Ironhide's tone wasn’t exactly condescending, but Slingshot bristled like it was when pinned with that look, wings perked high and drawing himself up to his full height, though his optics were dimmed, darkened with thought and a thin veil of shame covering his otherwise scowling face. "Yeah, well... " He searched for a retort, optic ridges furrowing deeper when he came up empty handed, and cast his gaze away, trying to look casual. "Maybe I'm just one of those mechs that can't be taught..." 

Ironhide snorted a half laugh. “Slinger you are arrogant, prideful, stubborn, an’ have a hot temper, but ya ain’t anywhere close ta stupid. An b’fore ya go gettin’ ruffled again. I can apply the same description to Sunstreaker, Tracks, Cliffjumper, an’ a few others, an’ they all know it. Pits I can apply all but arrogant ta m’self, an’ I’m sure a few ‘Bots would argue that arrogant tag.” He shrugged, unbothered by the fact.

Something that might have been a fleeting glimpse of humor crossed the jet's features as a hand came up to his face, reaching beneath his visor on instinct to rub wearily at his optics, a slight quiver in his intakes as the indignant anger gradually began to bleed out of his frame. The Aerials were strong and energetic, but stamina was something built over time, and the battle had been tiring enough in and of itself. But something about the hot fury of their argument was more exhausting than anything, a deep-seated weariness that made him want to just curl up in the middle of their recharge pile, have his brothers on all sides of him for a few cycles, though Primus knew he'd neither admit it or request it.

"I'll argue that arrogant tag," Slingshot muttered, but it was far less venomous than before, tentative even, testing the waters to see if that _had_ actually been an invitation to prod the mech's ego the way he had prodded his.

“Yer welcome to if ya can admit it in yerself first. Personally though, I think I’ve earned the right ta believe I can kick ‘Con aft from here ta Cybertron. An’ I’m pretty sure ya’d have a hard time findin’ anyone, includin’ a good number of ‘Cons, that would wanna be on the receivin’ end o’ my cannons, an’ ain’t afraid ta admit it. I’ve lost count of the battles I’ve been in, an’ I’m still here. Still goin’ out to beat those aft-headed glitches back from enslavin’ the universe.” Ironhide looked the kid over. He could see Slingshot was tired, Pits, Ironhide was tired, been a long fraggin’ day, and the injury list wasn’t limited to Slingshot’s brothers. Sunstreaker and some others had been released from the medbay, but more still remained.

“So what’s it gonna be, Slinger? Interested in learnin’ a few things? Interested in puttin’ that stubbornness o’ yers to some good use? Hopefully in the course of that, ya’ll see we ain’t a waste of the energon that keeps us functionin’.”

"Heh..." A small huff of a laugh escaped him, still scrubbing an optic. Frag that sandy summer wind getting in the base. That had to be what was making his optics ache. "Why do I need to admit it when Silverbolt's more than willing to admit it for me? Air Raid too. And before you ask, frag no I don't want to be on the receiving end of your cannons either. Might scuff my paint or something." That was as close to respect for the mech's abilities as he was willing to offer for now, grudgingly presented as it was and tempered with the half-sparked insinuation tacked to the end.

To the question he offered a shrug, "I might as well stick around a while longer. It's not like Starscream is going to play nice and share the skies even if I _did_ go to their side; and he's already proven that much. Besides, Bolt wouldn't forgive me if I walked out now, would he? Not without at least bringing him his energon like Ratchet told me to." He'd been suspicious of that, since the medic had been feeding injured out of the dispenser in the medbay all cycle, that he'd send the jet to fetch cubes for himself and his brothers. Surely Ratchet would be looking for him by now, or his brothers would be whining that they were hungry, but both were silent, comms and bond, and as the thought formed and solidified, Slingshot cast a suspicious glance at Ironhide, scrutinizing him out of the side of his visor. "...Was this a set-up?"

Ironhide grinned as Slingshot caught on, making sure his smile was wide and about as playful as he could manage given the seriousness of the whole thing. “Whatever do ya mean?” he asked in an innocent tone that really wouldn’t even fool a sparkling. He slapped a hand down on Slingshot’s shoulder, steering said sparkling around toward the common room. “Betcher hungry? I am.” He tipped his head a little closer to Slingshot’s. “I know where Sideswipe stashed some additives he uses to sweeten his energon. Betcher brother’s and the others in the ‘bay wouldn’t mind a little treat ta keep their minds offa the pain.”

He could almost have laughed aloud at the big, cheesy grin on the weapons specialist's face. And though he forced that sudden surge of mirth back down, there was a sudden twitching of his lips as he struggled for his customary scowl. He had no idea why it was so funny, or why that welling bubble of laughter felt so good right now, but he wasn't about to let it escape. It'd ruin that frag-the-world demeanor 'Hide was trying so hard to break him from and _then_ where would the challenge be for the rusted old fragger?

"Yeah, I could go for a cube," he agreed, not flinching when the hand came down on his shoulder, and unyielding as he's steered about. His visor brightened a little at the talk of sweets and treats. Wheeljack sometimes snuck them a few goodies despite Ratchet telling him, and them, how bad they were for them. Anything sweet was a coveted treasure, especially to a sparkling, and his youth was all the more apparent in the excited gleam of his optics through the golden band. "Really? But... if they're Sideswipe's, then isn't that stealing? And won't Ratchet be angry? Everyone keeps saying 'Don't frag off the Hatchet'..." As much as he wanted that treat, he just _had_ to give Ironhide a hard time about it. Gotta practice what you preach, after all. 

Ironhide laughed, the sound echoing around the corridor as they walked. “Please, how do ya think Sideswipe _acquired_ the additives in the first place?” He waved a hand. “There’s nuances, but ya’d better follow the rules ‘til ya figure ‘em out.” He shrugged. “Of course there’s always trial and error too, but just a small piece of advice… If Sideswipe’s smilin’ run. Preferably ta Prowl or Ratchet. They can handle him.”

The red mech's loud, boisterous laugh finally managed to pull a full smile from Slingshot, the mirth all too infectious the way it bounced and rebounded off the walls of the hallway. A hand 'discreetly' covered his mouth as he tilted his head away to keep Ironhide from seeing, and a heavy hint of his amusement did leak into his voice module before he could properly clamp it down.

"I think I've had enough of Trial and Error for right now, but I'm no coward. If I'm not going to run from a 'Con, I'm not going to run from Sideswipe, and I'm certainly not going to be a ... a... 'tattle-tale'," for lack of a better word. The older mech's camaraderie was an unusual sensation, the weight and pressure of the soldier's hand on shoulder was almost pleasant, their fields close enough to mingle should he reach even just slightly. So he did, tentatively feeling along the edges of Ironhide's electromagnetic field, his own field almost abuzz with nervous static. The motion was fleeting, a hesitant brushing against the beginnings of the other's being and consciousness, a child's hand seeking permission to hold and be held by someone bigger than themselves. And while he was physically larger than Ironhide, the old soldier's field seemed expansive, and bearing a depth and complexity to it that he could _almost_ outright admit to fearing to enter on his own. These were his creators, and they'd gone through this ploy, this convoluted scheme, to try and make him understand... what? That they cared for him? He wasn't ready to accept that answer just yet, but the idea was definitely growing on him. It felt nice to think someone actually cared about him _and_ his brothers, after feeling so used and chastised for the whole of his brief existence.

Ironhide shifted his grip when he felt Slingshot’s field brush his. Still chuckling, and using the mirth of the situation, he hooked his hand around the back of Slingshot’s neck, tugging the mechling closer in that friendly way anyone would tug a friend into their side. He expanded his field in the same moment, returning the tentative, shy touch, with a confident offer of comfort, the parent catching the child’s hand and squeezing it. They hadn’t considered everything when they’d made the Aerials. It ate them up, it _hurt_ Prime to send them into battle, they all wanted the kids to live long enough to no longer be kids. Bad start. But they wanted to fix it, and here was their way in. This arrogant, stubborn, hot-tempered sparkling, that loved his brothers fiercely enough to defy _everything_ to keep them from having their feelings hurt. Ironhide smiled proudly, giving Slingshot a little guiding nudge through the common room door.

Slingshot's optics widened a little at the catch and tug, startled by the sudden motion, and his whole frame stiffened in surprise as the warmth of Ironhide's field washed over his plating. He hadn't been expecting a return to his cautious prods, but the tingles of the stronger field enveloped him like a hug from impossibly huge arms, or a shelter against a loud and raging storm. Hesitantly, he leaned in against the soldier's side for a moment while they walked, testing how it felt to be nestled against someone that wasn't his brothers, and even relaxed against the red and grey plating with a small, weary sigh, only to pull away again before someone could see him. He doubted Ironhide would say anything about it and risk his own reputation as a hard-aft to the likes of Sideswipe, but that didn't mean he wanted any eyewitnesses of the event either.

He hesitated at the door of the rec room, field tight with uncertainty as his optics scanned over the crowd of mechs milling within. Mostly recovering mechs booted from Medbay and too stubborn to return to their quarters. Some were nestled into the corners in pairs, soundly in recharge with empty or half-finished cubes loose in their hands. A pile of drowsing minibots snuggled together on the couch in front of the television, soothing over each other's aches, and seeming to draw comfort from the proximity of the rest, fields mingling and overlapping in a familiar, lazy wave of energy. Others huddled together around tables, hands caressed tense shoulders, or worried faces, or captured trembling servos to hold within their own, offering comfort, support; simply loving each other so easily. And now that he knew what he was supposed to be looking for, he could see it. It was in their stances, in their optics, and he could almost hear it in their tones as they soothed and joked and wiggled their way beneath the melancholy of their friends' fears to tickle their senses of humor. They kept at it too, stubborn as Ironhide ever was, until there was a gleam in their optics that told them they would all be okay just because they were together.

Thoughtful, he glanced back at Ironhide, and his field gave a little flare of surprise to see that pride on the mech's face that he'd never seen directed at him before. It was... _Humbling_ , Silverbolt murmured against the edges of Slingshot's consciousness. _Embarrassing_ , Air Raid groused, though Slingshot felt the flicker of his brother's pride in return. _Wonderful_ , Fireflight crooned happily, a flutter of delighted energy across the bond. _About slagging time_ , Sky Dive quipped, prodding at Slingshot teasingly through their link. It was all those things, Slingshot decided. He turned his gaze back toward the crowded room, hoping the heat he felt rising in his cheeks wasn't visible to the red mech as Ironhide nudged him inside. Slingshot also made sure to clear his module of any static before he turned his attention to Ironhide, face straight and serious with his customary scowl, despite the nervous excitement of his field, and the delighted gleam of his visor. "I get first dibs on the sweets."

~|~

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